


Haunted House

by WrC



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Ghost!Jack, I refuse to tag more because that would spoil it big time, M/M, Past Stories, old!Hiccup, sad as fuck imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrC/pseuds/WrC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is an old as f*ck spirit who loves to play with children and scares off anyone else who comes to live in his house. This new Hamish, however, is something different...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> After an idea of queenofyoursoda on tumblr. Thank you for letting me have a go at it ^_^

The man looks old. His thinning hair was gray and he had two tiny braids in his neck, and his chin was covered in a well-kept, brown beard. He has lots of wrinkles to show for his age, though most of them are the happy wrinkles, like the ones you get from laughing and smiling all the time.

He sits on the front-porch of the white, sub-urban house drinking a cup of tea. A black Labrador lies at his feet and the dog seems about as ancient as his owner, it’s movements slow and weary.

Apart from the pet, he is alone. Well, I am there, of course, but that doesn’t really count, as humans generally don’t notice me.

The house has been restored to its former glory right before the man moved in, so gone is the flaking paint, rotting wood, and faulty wiring. All is in pristine condition, the contractor had ensured the man. 

He’d addressed him as Mr. Haddock.

Weird name.

Not that I know my own name - it might be even weirder. But hey, one gets forgetful after three hundred years or so. 

I’d love to see exactly how much this bearded figure can take. At first glance, I’d give him half a year. Older people tend to start blaming themselves or forgetfulness to explain the pranks I pull in an attempt to scare them. Indeed, scaring elderly effectively requires great skill and cunning, an art I have honed to perfection over the course of many, many years.

But it takes time. You need to build it up slowly.

So I undo the leash on his dog when he goes inside to get another cup of tea. Curiously, the dog doesn’t even move. Usually, animals will at least acknowledge my presence, but this one seems pretty oblivious.How boring.

When Mr. Haddock returns, he notices the loose leash. With an absentminded shrug, he puts it inside.

Okay perhaps this one will take a bit longer than six months... but I could be patient. The reward - yelling, screaming, running, and panicked looks - was always worth it. And who knows, maybe the next inhabitants will be a family with children. That’s much more fun than a graybeard with his dog.

The dog looks at him and makes this questioning, dog-like noise. You know what I mean. Not quite a growl or a bark, just a sound to draw attention.

“Oh, right. You want some water, bud?”

His voice sounds a bit nasal and I can’t help but laugh, making the dog’s ears twitch in response.

So he does hear me.

The old man fetches a bowl of water for his companion and sits back down. For a minute I think about sabotaging his chair, but then he might fall and break his hip or something. That’s not how I roll.

  

* * *

 

Every day he’s drinking tea while I’m bored out of my skull. I rack my mind to come up with pranks, but nothing seems quite funny enough to actually do. It’s hard to pull someone’s leg if the victim is so old — especially when the leg might come off. A few nights back I saw why he had this slight limp: it was his prosthetic, making up for the lack of a left foot.

I think about tipping over the metal sugar-cube thing, but that would be way too obvious as he’s practically looking straight at it. On the other hand, it’s right at the edge of the table…

I sigh from frustration and the dog looks in my direction. I stare right back at him, daring him for a response, but he just goes back to sleep. Boring.

In an attempt to find distraction, I start to wander. Not that I can go very far, since I can’t go beyond the grounds of the house at most places. There are only two places that extend further: I can reach the road and part of the little park across it, and a tiny part of the neighbour’s living room. That was the original property outline, before other, newer stuff was build.

My only relief is when Mr. Haddock’s groceries are being delivered. I get to screw with the delivery-boy to my hearts content! Static on the radio in his van, making him trip on the carpet in the hall, messing with the light in the fridge… it’s all part of the ‘freak-out-his-guests’-toolbox.

I mean, you have to do something to pass the time. It’s awfully lonely, being unable to really interact with anyone. That’s why I prefer families with young children so much! If I’m lucky, there is a more… what should I call it? An ‘aware’ child? Yes, I’ll go with aware. 

If new inhabitants have aware children, who can hear and see me, two possible scenarios may ensue: a) they freak out big time, all the time, which usually leads to rapid abandonment of the property, me laying low in the attic, or both, or b) they accept me as their friend. When that happens, I get to play with them as if I was real. I can talk to them. Touch them. Play with their toys when on-one else is looking.

It’s just generally a lot of fun. And with me around to protect them, they’re not even scared of the dark anymore. Not that there is anything to be afraid of in the shadows - I’m the only spirit here, trust me - but it feels good to help them overcome their fears.

Once, there was this brunet. A cute little boy. He was a bit of weary of me at first, but he didn’t scream or freak out. He just… observed me for a while. And eventually, when I made his plush bunny dance, he accepted me. He lived here longest.

That was an awesome time; he was one of the nicest children I’ve ever known.

How long ago was that? I don’t remember.

Anyway, the fun can’t last forever, as parents inevitably get suspicious. Their Timmy is a bit too old to have an imaginary friend. Or: who is Miranda talking to all the time? Maybe she should see a psychologist?

As soon as such questions are asked during hushed, late-night conversations at the kitchen table, it is time for them to move on. I will start some serious haunting around the parents to make them leave. Stuff will start to break. Infestations happen. Other, more mysterious stuff.

It’s best for the kids, you see? I can’t have people think he or she is bat-shit insane - or at least delusional. So they have to go.

And I will once again be left alone, with absolutely nothing to do.

  

* * *

  

It’s warm today. The old man is drinking cold, home-made lemonade, condense dripping down his glass, and his dog is even lazier than normal.

I boop it’s nose. He half-barks, the kind of sound that’s dog-language for ‘piss off’.

Out of no-where, the old man goes inside. When he comes back, he has a note-pad, a pen, and a second glass of lemonade with him. He puts it all on the table next to his chair.

“You know”, he starts, hesitant. “It’s getting really hard to find someone willing to deliver my groceries here.”

Who is he talking to?

“Does the warm weather bother you? I brought you some lemonade regardless. Though I must admit, I don’t know whether you can physically drink it or not… It’s the gesture that counts, right?”

Holy. Shit. He’s talking to me.

Never in my 300 years of haunting have I met an aware adult. I’d often wondered if they even existed. Apparently they did! This was so exciting!

“I can’t see or hear you… but I know you’re there”, the man continues.

And with that, my mood sinks like a brick in a gooey pond filled with disgusting algae.

He’s not aware. He just believes in ghosts.

That was so anticlimactic. I scream in frustration, startling the dog, and leave. I go to the outermost edge of the park I can reach and sit down beneath a tree.  
My life sucks.

I keep to myself during the days that follow. Twice more did Mr. Haddock - who introduced himself as Hiccup and his dog as Toothless - attempt to talk to me. I never responded.

I’m not sure why. Maybe because I was so disappointed that he wasn’t aware at all. That he was just someone who believed the stupid stories they tell to scare children. And of course there might be consequences if I confirmed I was there. I couldn’t just carelessly confirm my existence to an adult… What if he wasn’t a kind old man? What if he wanted to harm me? What if he was some ghost-hunter you always hear about on TV? Who knows, he may have someone with a black chevvy impala on speed-dial.

I’ve never talked to other spirits — I’m not even sure there are other besides me since I never met one — so I sure as hell wouldn’t know how much of that TV-crap was actually true. It wasn’t an appealing risk to take though.

Of course I can’t entirely avoid him. We live in the same house after all.

I casually drop through the ceiling into the living room and find him there, sitting in a chair with a tablet in his lap. I float above him and have a peek, unable to contain my curiosity.

He’s scrolling through pictures and I recognize him in some of them. A lot of them are of him with a blond woman, or just the woman on her own.

“You don’t need to live centuries in solitude to feel lonely,” he whispers. 

His words surprise me so much I almost fall to the ground.

“I may not be able to see you, but it seems Toothless here has no such limitations.”

Hell, I hadn’t seen the dog move a muscle, yet somehow he’d indicated to Hiccup I was here. I may have underestimated the black Labrador. It may just be my imagination, but I swear he’s looking so smug right now, lying on that big pillow of his. 

“Although…,” the man continues, “I guess it does take centuries of loneliness to become afraid of actual company.” His words have an unexpected sting to them. “After all, you haven’t replied to me so far, even though I know you’re there and I know you can. So apparently you don’t want my company. You just want to stay alone.”

I am breathless. Or I would be, if I still had to draw breath.

I’m not lonely. I have lots of things to do and I’ve had plenty of friends. What makes him think I’m just as sad as he is? I’m just bored most of the time, is all.

“Or you’re scared,” the man ponders. “Though I wouldn’t know what you’re scared of... But I do feel like we’re making some progress here!” He smiles, and for the first time I see what caused those happy wrinkles. It’s a charming smile. Assuring. It spreads a look of open warmth across his face, reaching all the way to his bright green eyes.

“I mean, you’re still here! This must have been the longest conversation we’ve ever had so far.”

I’m not sure what to do as I stand in front of him. Gingerly, slowly, I reach out. My hand is just a few centimeters from his skin when I stop myself. Instead, I touch his tablet, swiping to the next picture.

The man raises an eyebrow and a hint of sadness creeps into his kind smile.

“That is… was my wife. Astrid. She passed away twelve years ago. That’s when I got Toothless.” He falls silent, probably lost in memories. “You know, Spirit, it’s all right if you don’t want to talk to me. To be honest, it’s already a relief that I won’t be spending my last years alone.”

My feelings confuse me and I feel the strong urge to get the hell outta here.

He swipes right and a different photo appears, showing two men of relatively young age, and my jaw drops. The man on the right, I recognize as the greybeard operating the tablet. But it’s the one on the left that caught my attention. His face is awfully familiar. Bright smile, dimples, brown eyes… I touch the pad, tapping on the left man’s face. The tablet zooms in. Handy.

The old man looks up, confused, and stares right past me as he asks: “What is it?” 

I move my finger over the photo. Shit, it goes to the next picture. I go back. Tap. Zoom in. This is more difficult than I thought… kudos to Mr. Haddock for being able to use this.

“You mean that man?” I nod yes, only to realize he can’t see me. Without thinking, I grab his hand and put it on the strikingly familiar face. The man startles, but lets it happen. He even laughs a bit. “Wow, you can touch me!”

I intently tap his hand to the screen. This is no time to be amazed! Tell me who this man is, please! 

Thankfully, Hiccup seems to understand I don’t want to dwell on what I can and can’t do.

“Okay, okay, this man. That was my best friend. Look, I have more pictures over there.” He points at a dresser with some photo’s on it and I instantly take a closer look. Why haven’t I noticed these earlier?! Right in the middle of family-pictures is an ancient black and white photograph. On the left was a young version of Hiccup - god he looked so much more awkward when he was young - and on the right was, without a shred of doubt, Jamie. Good old Jamie. The longest friend I’ve ever had. He was older in the picture than he was when I knew him, but the resemblance was still striking. 

I carry the photo to him. Again, surprise all over his face, but I have no time to dwell on that. I want to know more, so I push the wooden frame in his hands, hoping he’ll get the hint.

“Okay? Thanks? Look, I need to know what you want. Tap me once for yes, twice for no. Simple enough, right?”

Genius. I tap once.

“Good. You want to know more about Jamie?”

Another tap.

“All right…” Hiccup swallows hard. “Did you know him?”

One more tap.

“Well be damned.” The graying brunet laughs and shakes his head. “He was my best friend. I’ve known him since we were what, eleven? Back then, he was the reckless one, and I was the one that thought up our nifty, mischievous plans. We’ve been best friends since secondary school and we’ve always stayed in touch. He became an artist, you know?”

Somehow it makes me incredibly happy to hear him talk about Jamie. Letting kids go isn’t always easy, and it sucked so bad when Jamie had to leave. 

Somehow, I wished I could have been his best friend forever. A stupid thought, but still.

Hiccup’s voice brings me back to the here and now. “Even though I’m older-” the man has to swallow hard, his eyes damp. “I still outlived him. Sorry, that’s a stupid way of putting it, I know, but we’d made a bet out of it when we were young.” He laughs despite his sadness. “He was very much convinced he’d outlive me, not the other way around.”

And suddenly it hits me. He was talking past tense. Jamie is dead. 

That cute little boy is long gone, turned into a teen, an adult, an old man, and eventually a lifeless body.

When he’d left my ‘life’ I’d become bored again. I’d been bored out of my skull, or so I told to myself, so I’d looked for distraction.

I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t just bored; I refused to acknowledge it was much more than that. 

I missed him. Missing someone felt weak to admit… but it had felt as if a part of me was gone. I missed him so, so, much, and now I find out he’s dead.

Hiccup’s head shoots up towards me and he rubs his hand. It’s wet. 

Why is his hand wet?

“You’re crying…” Hiccup mumbles more to himself than anyone else. I rub my eyes to find out he’s right. I am. I’ve never cried before.

Without hesitation, he reaches out. His hand collides with my shoulder and before I know it, he has me in a tight hug.

My tears wet his shirt. I cry because I still miss Jamie, because I miss having fun with him. Hell, I miss having any kind of fun, any kind of company. This old rot was right. Stupid elderly people and their infinite wisdom.

My life is lonely, and I hate it, and what I hate even more is there’s nothing I can do about it. 

I hug him back despite the awkward sitting position he’s in and he comforts me. He slowly strokes my back and combs through my hair and that breaks me up even more. I can’t even remember the last time someone showed me this kind of affection, this kind of comfort. 

It hurts.

“It’s okay”, Hiccup whispers. “I miss him too.”


	2. Bad News

I see Hiccup in a different light now, and I have to admit I’ve been an ass. I try to spend much more time with him, listening to stories about his family, or even better, about Jamie. It gives me a glimpse at the life I could have had, had I not been a being caught between worlds. A life that does not revolve around endless pranking and having fun with kids, but really living.

I love sitting with him and listening to his tales, and I think he appreciates my company just as much.

“That reminds me of a game Jamie and I used to play a lot when we were little. We’d play ghost hunter, looking for signs of the supernatural and battling evil spirits.” He grins and shakes his head a his little childhood game. “He really believed ghosts existed and I think he eventually convinced me. To us it was much more than just a game, it was serious business! We’d rummage around on the attic since that was the scariest place we could think of at first. I remember this dark corner full with spiderwebs. Neither of us ever dared go there.

“Eventually his mom got mad at us because we broke something and we had to find other places to ‘hunt’. We were soon drawn to an abandoned, run-down house a few streets away from my place. No-one really lived there and it looked spooky enough, so we took our chances. Encouraging each other, not wanting to be the first to chicken out, we practically broke into the house. And let me tell you, it was the perfect setting. Dusty, an armada of cobwebs, creaking floorboards, the whole package. Every little creak and groan would make us jump.

“Suddenly, a man with a huge beard jumped around the corner, screaming! We were so scared! Of course we ran from the house as fast as we could and we didn’t stop running till we were back home!” Hiccup laughs. “Apparently the house wasn’t as abandoned as we thought. 

My hand is on his shoulder and he briefly touches it, as if to remind himself I’m real.

”And to think Jamie was right all along. Spirits do exist… have you ever met a different spirit?”

I tap twice for no. Our taping system was easy enough, but I am often annoyed by how limited it is. He’d given me a notebook and pencil to write in, but I haven’t used it to talk to him yet. My writing is terrible. I’ve always hated it and have been very good at avoiding it for the last few centuries. 

I do practice when he’s asleep, so I can start answering his questions and tell him more about myself. ‘Cause he’s a curious one, this Hiccup. He wants to know everything: how old am I, how long have I been here, what was this place like, and so on. It brings back memories and images I thought I’d long forgotten. I don’t remember everything, but fragments often pop up when I’m listening to yet another story of his.

Being with him is unlike any other child I’ve played with. Hiccup doesn’t have dolls, or toy cars, or the wild fantasies only children can produce. He doesn’t pour tea for Ms. Flufflebut, although I would give anything to see him in a pink tutu having a little tea-party. That would be pure gold, I tell you. 

But seriously, for the first time, I am treated like a regular person. Maybe it’s because he can’t see my 14-year-old form, but it’s nice. Nicer than I thought it would be.

“Do you ever wonder why you’re here?” Hiccup asks, looking at what he thinks is my general direction.

One tap.

I’ve wondered, but I don’t know. I honestly have no idea why I don’t ‘move on’ as Hiccup calls it. It’s just a feeling I have. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me I have to stay — maybe that’s just part of being a ghost. Good luck trying to explain that to someone using just yes/no taps though.

I want to switch subject, so I float around the room, looking for a picture to bring him. Since I can’t write for now, bringing him photographs has become my way of asking for a tale.

I pick a picture with nothing but a large, black Harley Davidson motorcycle on it. Hiccup still startles when I bring him pictures and I can’t help but chuckle. Scaring people with floating stuff will never not be funny.

When he sees the picture, he immediately smiles. A fond memory then.  
“That’s my dad’s motorcycle. The first time I ‘borrowed’ it…” Hiccup makes the quotation marks with his fingers, “I immediately ran into a protest. Nuclear energy was a huge topic back then, with lots of people protesting against it. So there were people everywhere and it was already turning into half a riot. The crowd was screaming and yelling and the police had just arrived. Imagine if I’d gotten arrested there. My dad, pro-nuclear mayor and wanna-be governor, would have his bike confiscated and his son thrown in jail during an anti-nuclear protest. He would have killed me!”

“And that’s when I saw her.” A fond smile finds its way to his lips. “The toughest woman I’d ever seen, her blond hair waving in the wind, a brick in her hand. She almost walked straight past me as I was turning the bike around, trying to avoid running over anyone’s toes. When I was ready to leave, she noticed me, smiled, threw the brick at a cop, and jumped on the bike. “DRIVE!”, she screamed. And man, did I drive!” Hiccup laughs.

“After a couple of blocks, I let her off again. When I took my helmet off, she first slugged me in the arm, saying ‘that’s for scaring me by driving like a madman!’. Then she kissed me on my cheek and added: ‘and that’s for helping me’. She introduced herself as Astrid and I got her number!”

I’m sitting on the ground, partially pressed against his leg, so he feels me laughing. It’s a habit we’ve developed — I always have some form of contact so he knows exactly where I am. That way, we avoid unexpected collisions and he doesn’t feel like he’s talking to thin air. Sometimes he even ruffles my hair when he’s done telling a story. That makes me feel kinda weird… but in a good way.

“So thanks to my dad’s monster of a motorcycle, I met my wife. But honestly, I was much more held-back than her. More careful as well. It a miracle that we even became a thing, I think.”

He continues to tell me little tidbits and funny stories about Astrid, until the ceiling lamp starts to flicker. It sputters a few times and dies. Annoyed, Hiccup gets up and flips the switch a few times. Busted.

“By Odin’s beard,” he mumbles under his breath as he gets a new light bulb, climbs onto a chair, and tries to remove the broken lamp. Out of nowhere he weavers and falls backwards with a surprised yelp. I immediately make a grab for him. I manage to catch his upper body, but he is way too heavy for me to completely stop so his feet end up slamming into the ground while his upper body remains afloat in the air, supported by my arms.

“Wow. I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to fly,” he comments dryly, his face white as snow. “But seriously, thanks, Spirit. That could have been a nasty fall… you’re not very big, are you?”

I tap his arm twice. As I said, body of a 14-year-old. I consider it a small miracle that I managed to keep him from completely slamming into the carpet.  
“Pretty strong though,” he says in earnest. “You think you could replace the light for me? I doubt I should climb back up there again…”

I thought nothing of it — humans all lose their balance now and again. But later that night, as I am struggling with transferring letters onto paper in a legible fashion, I hear a loud bang coming from upstairs. Toothless and I perk up simultaneously and I float through the ceiling, looking for the source of the sound. I find Hiccup on the bathroom floor, muttering curses and massaging his stump. Without further thought, I tap his shoulder. He startles but quickly regains his posture. 

“I’m okay, Spirit. Apart from being a embarrassed with you being in the shower with me, I’m fine.” The man tries to chuckle, but I can clearly tell he’s hurt. That was no small fall. So I stick around, even though I find it just as awkward. It’s weird to see an old man crawl around in the shower and I’m sure he’ll be mortified if he knows I’m still here, but I am too afraid to leave in case he falls again.

The next few days, things start adding up. He cuts himself when shaving. He spills water or juice when pouring drinks for himself (or for me, even though I won’t drink anything). He is getting clumsier by the day, so I start helping out. I don’t want him to get hurt, so I end up cutting all the vegetables, even though I’m a disaster with a cutting knife myself. At least I can’t loose any fingers. I think.

Two weeks passed. This morning, a taxi came to pick him up. He didn’t explain where he was going, he only said he’d be back somewhere this afternoon. Even Toothless was left behind.

As soon as he is gone, it strikes me how silent it is without him. It’s hard to believe it has always been like this. Hiccup usually has a story to tell me, or some modern thing to explain, but now I only have Toothless, who is currently so fast asleep it’s almost comatose.

Yesterday, the elderly man told me about his history with dogs. It all started with his job at the animal shelter. He was just there to clean the pens and walk with a bunch of dogs from time to time — just another job to make some extra cash. Until a certain German Shepherd bit one of the handlers. Policy was they had to put him down, as the shelter was no place for violent animals, and a dog that had bitten a handler would never be suitable for adoption. Hiccup, however, protested loudly. He wanted to give the shepherd another chance.

Everyone else thought he was crazy. Even Jamie, the most open-minded person ever, had called him an idiot. But Hiccup took the dog into an empty room and stayed in there for literally hours and hours. He’d seen something in that dog… he’d know he just had to get past the pain and distrust caused by its former, abusive owner. And it wasn’t easy. It took a good two hours before the dog even accepted his presence.

But he didn’t give up.

Eventually, he was allowed to carefully pet him.

Even later, the dog got comfortable in his lap.

When the sun was long gone and almost everyone had left, the shepherd had rolled onto his back, completely trusting Hiccup.

As the duo emerged from the room, a whole different animal was walking beside Hiccup.

Okay, it wasn’t a perfect happy-ending story, since the dog trusted only Hiccup and was still mean to anyone else. But it was something. Hiccup named him Thor and took him in despite his father’s repeated protests.

As long as Hiccup worked in that shelter, many dogs like Thor got a second chance and managed to recover from an abusive past. More dogs than ever rehabilitated and could be adopted into caring families.

Of course I’d asked about Toothless by putting the old man’s hand on Toothless’ head. As always, he grasped my meaning pretty quick. It turned out Toothless was a very similar story.

“After Astrid passed away, I couldn’t take the silence. It was driving me mad. So Fishlegs — I mean Chris — suggested I got a dog. That of course took me back to my job at the animal shelter and I decided to adopt one. When I got to the local shelter, I couldn’t help myself and asked if there were any difficult dogs. They thought I was crazy, of course. What could an old, limping man do with problem-cases? 

“It took quite some convincing before they let me have a go with Toothless. He’d had his teeth smashed by the previous owner. It was so sad… and he’d become very violent to everyone who tried to touch him, so they couldn’t even properly clean his wounds. Then I did practically the same thing I did with Thor all those years back. And again, it took incredibly long… but it was so worth it. I knew there had to be a loving creature in there, somewhere, and I managed to find it. I called him Toothless.”

Now his teeth were fine, of course. Hiccup explained he’d gotten a set of fake teeth. They made a nice duo, I guess. One has fake teeth, the other a fake leg.

While I wait for Hiccup to return, I’m left to winder why he came to live here in the first place. I mean, I know he was originally from Berk and he said he left because of his dad. Stoic — Hiccup called his father that because of his stoic behavior — is dead now, so that’s hardly a reason to return. I don’t think he has any family here.

I’ll have to ask him when I get home. Carefully, slowly, I start to write the question down. I’ve made good progress on my writing, and I already have a piece of paper spelling my name! It’s quite neat if I may say so myself.   
I’m proud, okay, let me brag a bit.

I hear the door open en float out to greet the old man, the paper with my name clutched in my hand. I touch his arm when he puts his keys in the bowl next to the door. He startles and I instantly know something is wrong. My touch never startles him these days.

I study his face. He seems… sad.

Defeated.

I wish he could hear me now more than ever before. I want to ask whats wrong. It’s never all right to see adults like this, and I get anxious.  
With some effort, he locates my head and ruffles my hair, forcing an unconvincing smile. He wants to say something but stops, looking at the paper instead.

“Jack. Is that your name?”

One tap.

“Thank you, Jack. That sure sounds a lot better than ‘spirit’.” Another wry smile, followed by a thoughtful pause. 

“I went to the hospital today,” he starts. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my body wasn’t quite doing what I wanted it to do. Well… how do I say this? I’m ill, Jack. I have a brain tumor. It’s messing up the control over my body.”

I don’t understand. I heard the word tumor before, but I’m not sure what it means. I give three taps, hoping he gets it.

Of course he does. He explains what’s wrong in a way I can follow, and my heart sinks. This sounds like a bad illness. Even worse, I know from experience old people die when they get sick.

Not always, I forcefully remind myself. Doctors are great these days. He’ll pull through!

“With the current growth, I’ll die within a few months.”

Fuck.

“They asked me if I had someone to take care of me back home. I said yes, since you’re here.” He tries to laugh, but sadness remains all over his features. I shake my head vigorously and grab him tight, hugging his frail body. I don’t want him to die. 

I’ll be alone again.

“Hey, don’t be sad, Jack. I’m old. That’s just the way of things.”

My writing suddenly seems meaningless. What good is writing my own name if my only company is going to die way too soon.

Hiccup sits down in his chair and I sit on the ground, leaning against his good leg. I put my head on his knee, and he pets my hair. This time, it doesn’t feel nice. I feel no warmth or parts of fond memories. All I can feel is sorrow. 

Hiccup will die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for what I'm doing to them xD It'll get better, I promise >.>


	3. Pushing Boundaries

Hiccup wakes up with the same, nagging headache he’s come to known for the past few weeks. Groaning unhappily, he rolls over to look at the clock besides his bed.

8:41

Some more groans, weary sighs, and coughs later, he manages to sit up and put his leg on. Since he can’t really clean the house himself, he had to hire someone else to do it for him, and he doesn’t want to be in bed when the cleaning lady comes around. It actually took quite a few talks to convince Jack to leave her alone, but he has accepted her presence. Besides that Hiccup is pretty self-sufficient — albeit with Jack’s help — so he can still live by himself.

His muscles voice their protest loudly when he gets up, and the dull ache inside his skull escalates to a throbbing pain. It’s definitely time for his painkillers and medication.  Even though he’s not getting chemo therapy, the doctor has signed him up for a trial drug that may or may not help with his particular tumor. He signed on, not expecting much, but doing it anyway for the sake of science.

The first thing he does when he gets to the kitchen is downing his morning dose of painkillers, and one tablet of whatever-the-name-was-o-pan. He feels a hand on his shoulder and can’t help but crack an uneven smile.

“Good morning, Jack.”

The spirit waves another box in front of him: the-other-complicated-name-ofine. Hiccup gratefully accepts.

“What would I do without you.”

Despite the water he just drank, his throat hurts, and he can’t help but cough repeatedly. Great. As if his health wasn’t bad enough already, he now also has a cold.

With a scowl, he sits down at the table to look at what Jack had written for him during the night. His writing had progressed a lot, and ever since he’d shown Hiccup his name, he’d taken to writing a little bit about himself during the night. So every morning, a new piece of history lays on Hiccup’s kitchen table and it never fails to brighten his mood. He’s not even reading yet, and his day is already so much better. Having Jack here with him really is a blessing he wouldn’t want to miss.

Because seriously. He’s become friends with a ghost! A ghost who, of all people, was a childhood friend of Jamie! Would you believe that?

But even though today’s message from Jack is about toys and old children’s games — a topic Hiccup somehow enjoys greatly — he still feels particularly crappy. His headache has barely gone down, and his cough is killing him. Perhaps some fresh air will do him good.

* * *

When Miranda leaves, Hiccup announces he’ll go out for a walk and I float around the house for a bit. It’s stupid I’m not allowed to scare the cleaning lady… but then again, Hiccup does need her. If she’s not here, I’ll have to do all the cleaning and that would suck even more for all parties involved. So I leave her alone… for now.

Then it strikes me it is almost time for his noon medication. I immediately check whether he’s taken them or not. Unfortunately his pill-box is still in the drawer, the noon-compartment filled with two capsules.

Goddamnit.

Thankfully, he hasn’t even left the street yet — I can see him walking with Toothless at the end of the street. So I grab his box with pills and try to go straight after him, but the box is snatched out of my hand when I try to pass a wall. Right. Pills can’t pass walls, you dork.

I try again, this time moving the pills through an open window. Outside, I keep them low to the ground, so the neighbors won’t see a little blue box flying down the street. That wouldn’t even be a good prank — it would cause downright panic. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago.

I manage to catch up with him before he leaves the street and I tug his sleeve. He jumps a little, which is unusual.

“Jack! I didn’t expect you here!”

I push the box in his hand.

“Oh, right. I forgot those. You came after me because I forgot my meds?” He smiles. “What would I do without you, Jack.” He empties the noon-compartment and downs the capsules without water.

“But seriously, you’ve never followed my out of the house before, have you?”  
I look around me and realize he’s right. I’ve never been this far from the house! How is this even possible? The feeling I usually get when I try to go further than the original property was completely gone!

“Well, since you’re here now-” Hiccup coughs, “why don’t you come along? It’d be nice to walk with you.”

In response I put my hand on the wrinkled one that’s holding Toothless’ leash and I can see him smile. He leads us a few blocks down and we take a bus to the city center, where we get out at the edge of a park. After a few more minutes, we arrive at an old fountain and the old man sighs audibly.

“I’m so glad that’s still here, Jack,” he mumbles. “I mean, you must see some regular old fountain, but to me, it’s much more than that. This is where I met Astrid for the second time in my life. After she’d given me her number, I’d been a bit scared to call her again. I was very much convinced that she was way out of my league and I could only dream of going out with someone like her. But eventually, after much pushing by Jamie, I picked up the phone and we agreed to meet again. This was the place.

“As the date drew near, I was unbelievably nervous! It was ridiculous really. Astrid came up to me from behind and casually said hello, but I was so on edge that I jumped a few feet into the air! I would have fallen into the fountain if she hadn’t caught me!

“It did break the ice though, as she was laughing her ass off… the rest of the date was pretty tame after that. We just drove around on my dad’s bike and we had lunch at some diner. It was nice.”

Hiccup lapses into silence as I hover next to him. I want to ask why he sounds sad when he talks about happy things, and I want to ask what happened next, but alas, I can’t. At times like this, that’s really frustrating.

“I really need to sit for a while though, I’m tired.”

There’s a bench at the edge of the park a bit further away.

“Damn. This is also still the same. I sat a lot on this bench, you know? There, on the other side of the park, is the city hospital. I walked around in this park and sat on this very bench almost every night while my wife was in there.”

So that’s why he was sad.

“Maybe I’ll see her again, when I die. Not that I want to die, but maybe she’ll be there, waiting for me. That makes it all just a bit more bearable.”

I sit down next to him and lean against him for support, but he states these things a bit matter-of-factly. He’s sad that his time is running short, but he’s also accepted that he’ll die soon. It’s weird to see someone like that.

“Don’t you want to see all those children again, Jack? Or your family? I’m sure they’re waiting… somewhere. Whatever that place may be.”

I’m unable to tell him I can’t even remember my family. I have no idea who I was before this… ghostly life. After all those years, I simply forgot who I used to be, I guess. Even though I remember more these days, because of all the questions Hiccup asks, there is still so much that I lost over the course of centuries. 

Hiccup’s question stung more than I’d like to admit, but the old man doesn’t know that.

After a long silence, Hiccup explains this is what he often does during his walks. He takes Toothless along to visit all the places that have a special meaning to him. Both good and bad; he tries to revisit them all. A strange type of nostalgia, he calls it.

“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this though,” he admits. “With how fast my condition is deteriorating. So how about we visit one more spot for today?”

* * *

Jamie’s grave is somewhere near the back of the cemetery. According to the headstone, he’d died a year and a half ago. Standing besides the headstone is a picture of him in his forties, together with Hiccup. It’s surreal to see the someone I learned to know as a little kid like an adult.

Inevitably, I get sad again. Hiccup notices and puts an arm around me, heedless of what passersby might see. He’s an old man; he’s allowed to do silly things anyway without anyone questioning him. They’ll just assume he’s gone a bit mad.

“Don’t be sad, Jack,” the old man comforts me. “Whenever I visit, I miss him too, of course. But I always focus on the good things and remember all the fun we’ve had. Like when we snuck away to the zoo to visit the reptile house… did I tell you about that one?”

I wipe my eyes and nod ‘no’, only then realizing he can’t see that. But he already knows the answer, so that’s okay.

“Well, you know we both loved reptiles. Like, a lot. We could spend hours flipping through national geographic, searching for the coolest reptile pictures. Naturally, we really wanted to go to the zoo to see the reptile house… but it was far away and our parents refused to take us. So we saved up and tried to earn some extra money doing chores, and we took a bus! It took weeks of saving before we had enough, but we were convinced it would be worth it. The brochure said they had the biggest python in the world!

“So finally the big day came. We had our backpacks, packed a lunch and told our parents we were going over to the other. But instead, we went to Berk Zoo. It was a real adventure for little kids like us. But in our naive enthusiasm, we’d forgotten a crucial point. We also had to pay for a ticket to get in…

“Imagine how sad we were. Jamie was about to give up, but I was determined. I wanted to see that snake! It didn’t even cross my mind that sneaking in was against the law. It was just something I really wanted and I didn’t consider possible consequences for a second. Jamie later confessed to me he’d felt guilty about it, and it was only then that I felt a bit bad myself. Before that, I didn’t think anything bad of it, really.

“Anyway, we got the perfect chance when a supply-truck came. Next to the visitor’s entrance was a gate for suppliers and trucks. It opened to let the truck in, and using the truck as cover, we sneaked in. Through a small miracle we got to the visitor’s area undetected. And then we spent the whole day gawking at animals, in particular the reptiles, of course. And the python was every bit as impressive as I though it would be, by the way.” Hiccup grins.

“When we got home, our parents were livid! Of course we smelled like damp jungle, so there was no denying where we’d been. Still, looking back, it was definitely worth it.”

Soon after the story, Hiccup legs gets sore and we go home.

The longer than usual walk drained the graying man, so he goes to bed as soon as we get back. Just a quick nap, he says. I’ll be sure to wake him up in time, or he won’t be able to sleep during the night. Toothless finds this nap-thing a marvelous pan and follows the same course of action, falling asleep on his big pillow.

I hang about till Hiccup is fast asleep in case he needs anything, before I start to float around aimlessly, thinking. How could I leave the house like that? It’d never happened before. So I try it again, and I feel the old, familiar feeling that stops me in my tracks in the usual place. I simply can’t go any further, like always.

This is stupid.

Instead of wreaking my phantom mind on why I could leave that one time, I return to my writing. I’ll write about the previous house that used to stand here — that old farm. Hiccup will love that.

When I grab the notebook, I notice and older piece of paper jutting out. ‘Why’, it said.

I haven’t gotten around to finishing the question entirely yet, but I really want to know why Hiccup left, and why he came back now… it puzzles me that he never talks about that. It’s not that he can’t talk about less pleasant things. He told me in detail how he lost his leg. About the physical — and to some extent emotional — pain it caused him. He even went as far as to share the nightmares that’d plagued him for some years afterward.

The accident had been hard on him, and his already strained relationship with his father. You see, an armored van from the riot police drove over his foot, completely crushing it to oblivion, when the cops rolled out during a protest gone sour. He didn’t feel much at first, until he tried to take a step. Then, and I quote, “it hurt like a motherfucker”.

It had been an anti-nuclear protest, so Stoick had shown zero compassion. In his eyes, it was Hiccup’s own stupid fault, which had probably hurt nearly as much as the foot-crushing.

Anyway, the point is, Hiccup isn’t afraid to touch on more painful subjects. He’s open. Honest. He tells me pain is part of life.

Yet he hasn’t told me what made him leave, so I’ll just have to ask.

When I’ve completed the question, written in my best — yet still infantile and crappy — handwriting, I decide to check on him again. It’s not like I have things to do anyway. Miranda won’t be back till tomorrow to discover the little surprise I left for her…

Oh, come on, I had to. It’s just a dirty handprint in a place impossible for Hiccup to reach, nothing major.

Stop judging me.

When I get to his room, Hiccup is a tangled mess with his sheets. A pained moan instantly draws my full attention. He took his painkillers before he went to bed, he shouldn’t be in pain!

I reach for his arm so I can see if he needs anything, but the moment I touch his skin, I withdraw in shock. He’s so warm! Tentatively, my hand brushes his forehead; he has an incredible fever! My hand comes away damp with sweat.

No kid I’ve ever lived with has had a fever this high.

The only thing I can think of is to do as mothers always do. I grab a bucket in case he gets sick — vomit on the floor is not a cool prank to pull on poor Miranda — and I drench a washcloth in cold water to be placed on his brow. The moment I put the cold cloth on his forehead, he sighs in relief. 

He murmurs something I can’t hear, but I grab his hand to tell him I’m near. He doesn’t squeeze back. Apparently he’s completely out of it.

I keep replacing the washcloth with a cold one regularly. It’s all I can do.

Hiccup’s talking gets louder, but he makes no sense at all. He’s just delirious.

“I don’t want to go,” he says. “I can’t be a potato. The potato is in the oven!”

Despite the situation, it’s a bit funny.

After a while, he continues with: “I can’t leave her…” He turns and twists in his sleep and the cloth falls on the floor. “NO! ASTRID!”

I startle.

“It’s okay, Hiccup. I’m here. You’re dreaming.” I know he won’t hear me, but I speak to him all the same. I talk to calm him down and he relaxes a bit, though that’s probably a coincidence. I furrow my brow when I replace the cloth again. 

No-one should be this hot. The last time I felt such heat was… 

Oh my god.

I remember.

The last time I felt such heat… was the day I died.


	4. Remembering

The orphanage was cozily located in the middle of fucking nowhere, where the winters could be harsh, and the nuns that took care of the children even more so. It was here that I lived with my little sister, Emma. 

I still can’t quite recall why we were there or how we got there. Our parents must have died, obviously, or we wouldn’t be orphans. But I can’t remember the details, no matter how hard I try.

The establishment was run by a church, next to a desolate village. Our lives were dictated by chores, prayers, and silent meals, directed by a grumpy priest and mean nuns. Add to that some manipulative children, and you have yourself a true hellhole — which I find an ironic way of putting it considering who ran the place.

For as long as I can remember, I took care of my little sister. She was my precious little girl, with her soft, auburn hair and sweet, high giggle. I tried to keep her from all harm, from the meaner kids and nuns alike, which in turn tended to give me a load of trouble. Extra chores. A beating here and there. But Emma remained safe and more or less happy, and that’s all that mattered to me, really.

Until one day, I got sick.

“Jackson!” the harsh voice of the head mistress pierced through my mind like an icicle stabbing violently into my skull. My head throbbed, and every single muscle in my body was aching, screaming when I moved. “Why aren’t you up yet?!” She shoved me and I groaned, trying to muster a response that wasn’t more than a throaty sound. It took me a few tries before I could croak “Sick”.

The nun roughly felt my head and confirmed that I was, indeed, sick.

“Fever”, she concluded. “Stay in bed today.” And off she was again.

I can’t remember how much time passed before Emma showed up. “What’s wrong, Jack?” She whispered.

I managed to open my eyes to look at her, and I was greeted by a worried look, complete with furrowed brow and tight lips.

“I’m just sick, Emma”, I tried to comfort her. “You should leave before they catch you, you know you’re not allowed in the boys dorm.”

“I want to help you”, she insisted. Despite my miserable state, I had to smile. She felt my head, like she’d seen the nuns do, but retreated her arm quickly, startled.

“You’re too hot!”

I could see it scared her. I couldn’t form words to comfort her, so instead I let her climb onto the bed to lie with me. Screw the consequences, I was too sick to be punished anyway.

I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I felt even worse. The world was swimming. Nothing seemed to look how it should, and when I tried to get up, my headache got so bad I had no choice but to lay down again. I felt like I was on fire. Everything hurt. Emma wasn’t there, which made me panic, but I couldn’t speak up. Only a hoarse whisper escaped my mouth. I don’t know what time it was, or whether I was alone or not. I just wanted Emma — I was so worried. Who took care of her today, if I was stuck in bed?

That was pretty much the last coherent thought I can remember. After that, it’s just heat.

* * *

I sit on the ground next to Hiccup’s bed, not knowing what to do. The sudden return of these memories shocked me. How could I’ve forgotten?

I hate myself.

“I just couldn’t leave her,” I say out loud. “Someone had to keep her safe. I died then, and yet I stayed. To protect her. She couldn’t see me anymore, couldn’t hear me anymore… and it hurt so much to be ignored like that — even more than that killing headache. Still I remained, because I wouldn’t leave her alone, not when she needed me the most. I continued doing my brotherly job until she left the orphanage, and by then I couldn’t follow, because here where more children that needed me… I was a guardian, of sorts.”

“So that’s why you stayed behind.”

I startle and jump up. Hiccup is looking right at me, his bright, green eyes clear and focused.

“You can hear me?!” I call out, causing him to wince.

“Headache. Loud.” He mumbles. He reaches out and I hold his hand. It’s sweaty, and weak; the hand of an old sick man. But for a moment, some strength returns in it, and he squeezes back, looking at me once again. “I’m so proud of you. That took strength, Jack.” Before I can reply, his eyes go hazy again, and he is lost in his fever-induced dreams once more.

I change the washcloth again and hope with all my might that he’ll survive the night.

* * *

Miranda comes the next morning and starts with her regular cleaning routine. I know she’ll clean Hiccup’s room either last or second to last, and I don’t want to wait that long. I drop a pile of books from his bookcase onto the floor to create a ruckus and lure her upstairs. It works, and soon enough she finds Hiccup in his abominable, sweaty, delirious state. His temperature is high enough to startle her and she does what I could not the night before. A quick call to the emergency services and an ambulance is on its way. 

“Hang in there, Hiccup,” I whisper while I float above him. Together with Toothless I stand guard until the paramedics arrive. The first one immediately takes his temperature while his bearded colleague cuts open Hiccup’s shirt so he can put those stickers with chords on his chest. A monitor starts beeping rapidly and the paramedics start exchanging some rapid phrases that I don’t understand. I just stay as close to the old man as I can.

When they take him to the hospital, I follow. Surprisingly, I can stay by his side the entire time. He’s taken in and ends up in a room all to himself — the signs read ‘intensive care’. You can say that again; he needs some intensive caring all right. Do your thing, modern medicine. Make Hiccup better.

A doctor examines him and nurses buzz around for a while, hooking him up to a bag of clear fluid, and then another one. They take some blood, and then he’s left alone. Hesitantly, I pick up the chart at the end of his bed to read what the doctor wrote down. It takes me a while to decipher, but I can make out the word ‘pneumonia’. At least I know what that means. The rest is mumbo-jumbo and abacadabra, either because the doctor has a shitty handwriting and I can’t read it, or I really don’t know what the words mean. 

Probably a bit of both.

The beeping noise is no longer as fast as when they brought him in, so I guess that’s good. I allow myself a little more hope; perhaps he really will be fine after all.

Now that my immediate worries are put to rest and Hiccup is still out cold, I start to explore a bit. I can go ahead a couple of rooms in all directions before I feel the familiar tugging that stops me in my tracks. Apparently I’m now bound to Hiccup, at least for as long as I’m not home. Briefly, I wonder what will happen if he dies here. Will I be stuck on this cold, sterile hospital floor? I shudder and push the thought away. There aren’t even any children here.

During Hiccup’s stay in the hospital, he got in trouble twice. The monitor bleeped, his temperature soared, and he started to trash and scream as if he was having a terrible nightmare. His screams turned to coughing until the doctor came to give him something and he went back to sleep. His forehead remained scarily hot though. Beads of sweat made it gleam in the harsh TL light. During those times, I was with him, and as soon as we were alone, I would hold his hand. I don’t think he ever noticed; he didn’t respond at all.

Thankfully, the fever eventually went down. One morning, as a nurse was checking on him after his first full and quiet night of sleep, he opened his eyes. For the first time in ages, he spoke coherently; he asked what day it was.

“Wednesday, Mr. Haddock. You’ve been here for almost a week now, but your fever has finally settled. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

It was three more days before they moved him to a different ward. They took him away twice to put him in a huge, humming machine. Interestingly, I had to steer clear of the machine. The first time I tried to go through the machine to be close to Hiccup, only to learn that I actually _couldn’t_. Weird. And whenever I got close, the operator would become very confused, staring at his screen and mumbling curses. Good prank-material, but I decided not to disturb it any further. After all, this was important for Hiccup’s health.

After the machine-thing, a doctor I hadn’t seen before came to talk to Hiccup. He said he had great news! Something about the trial drug and a scan and that the cancer had seized to grow. 

Three days later, Hiccup was allowed to go home again.

* * *

Toothless greets him with the greatest enthusiasm when Hiccup walks through the door. The old Shepherd jumps up against him and nearly bowls him over. He barks and tries to lick Hiccup’s face and the old man laughs.

“Yeah I missed you too bud! I hope Miranda took good care of you!”

Hiccup goes inside and sits down in his favourite chair, Toothless’ head on his lap. He scratches behind the dog’s ears lovingly, mumbling stuff in a cutesy voice. 

“Jack, are you here?”

“Never left your side,”I joke, but before I can tap the old man on his shoulder, he jumps up and stares in my direction.

“That was not a dream!” He says incredulous.

“What? You can hear me?”

“You bet! Ever since… well, I can’t really remember when.” He sits down again, a look of amazement still plastered on his face. “But I remember you telling about your sister.”

I swallowed hard. “Can you also see me? You could then.”

“Sadly not. But I think I remember you,” he adds with a fond smile. “I thought it was just a dream.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Surprised by how I look?”

“You mean young? I guess.” The old man laughed. “But I’d already felt you weren’t big or strong, of course, so it’s not much of a surprise.”

I move closer and put my hand on his shoulder. He holds it.

“You made me remember,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”

“Kinda. But at the same time, I’m glad I remember. Now I know why I’m here.”  
Silence descends upon us, until Hiccup realizes I was also with him in the hospital, so I know about the scan.

“Did you catch what my oncologist said to me?”

“Who?”

“Bald doctor with glasses.”

“Oh him! The one about… them pirate eyes?”

“What?”

“ ’Em Arrrr Eye.”

“You doofus,” Hiccup rolls with his eyes in played annoyance. “Yes, the MRI. He told me the cancer had stopped growing. As long as it stays like this, I’m not going to die!” He smiled broadly and I literally jumped in the air.

“THAT’S GREAT!”

“I know! But keep in mind it can start growing again, so don’t expect too much of it. Let’s just be glad we have a little bit more time.”

I know he’s right, but I can’t help being excited. Every extra day I get to stay with him is a gift. I don’t even want to think about being alone again, not after all Hiccup did for me. I don’t want to forget all these things again, like I did before.

“I feel like we need to celebrate though. I’m inclined to go out for dinner, but that won’t be much fun for you I’m afraid.” He chuckles a little. 

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’ll just, you know, float around. Maybe trip a waiter or two.”  
“Yeah right, you’ll stir up so much trouble the Ghostbusters are called in.”

“Those exist?!” 

“Not really, no,” Hiccup says, laughing heartily. “But I wish I could have seen your face just now!”

“That’s mean, don’t scare me like that!”

“That’s exactly what you do to all those other people, you know?”

“It’s different then,” I argue defiantly.

“Okay okay, I’ll let it go.” Hiccup shakes his head, still smiling. “Gods, Jack, it’s nice to talk to you. To hear your voice.” He sighs.

I automatically tap twice in agreement, even though I could just say ‘yes’ now. Actually, I can finally ask you something now. I’ve wondered for a while now…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you leave Burgess?”

The old man falls silent for a moment, a sad expression on his face. He sighs, almost visibly gathering his courage, before he explains.

“I left because it was too painful to stay. I know I’ve often said pain is part of life, but this… this was too much. So I ran from this place and its memories. I’m sure it would have destroyed me if I’d stayed. But I think I can tell you what happened, if you want to know.”

I thought for a second. This could be the heaviest thing he’s ever told me. It will be no fun whatsoever… yet I still want to hear it. I’m not sure why. Perhaps its because it’s so hard for Hiccup, if that makes any sense.

“I do.”

Hiccup laughs and comments on the gravely tone of my voice. Then he gets serious again. While he scratches Toothless behind his ears, he tells me about his old job.

“I was working as a environmental engineer for Shell. It was my job to make sure that potentially dangerous and polluting facilities stuck to the safety and environmental rules with their designs. And sometimes I was involved as engineer when upgrading existing installations, like upgrading a drilling platform at sea to a more environmentally friendly version. It was my way of working towards a cleaner world. Can you believe that? Working for Shell to reduce pollution? I may have been a bit naive.

“Anyway, on my last job, the company actually wanted to send me to an oil rig to oversee construction. I’d never actually visited — my job was to make plans from behind a desk. I did that on purpose, because I didn’t want to leave Astrid alone. But both Shell and Astrid insisted I’d go. She’d be fine for just a month by herself, she said. So I left. In my second week I got a call.”

Hiccup stops and swallows hard. I sit down on the ground, leaning against his leg, like we’re both used to.

“They… It… she was in the hospital. There had been a protest — anti-nuclear again — and Astrid was there. Of course she was. She still had this strong sense of justice and wouldn’t hesitate to act on it. But the protest got violent thanks to some overly-aggressive assholes and I guess she got caught between rioters and the advancing police. She was hit in the head. I don’t even know by what or who, and when I came home, she was still in the hospital. She was alive… but comatose. I never got to talk to her again, Jack. Eventually, she passed away.

“I blamed myself so much. Unjustly, I know, but I couldn’t help it. If only I hadn’t left, if only I’d stayed, I could have stopped her! I could have saved her! She would have been with me for so many more years if I hadn’t given in to Shell’s stupid ideas!” The old man sighs. “Anyway, I couldn’t bear continue living here. I got little sympathy from my dad, I was too angry at my job to continue working for Shell, and the place was filled to the brim with painful memories. After yet another fight with my dad, I decided to leave and never return here.” He looks in my direction and ruffles my hair. “Strange how old age brought me back anyway, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“No need for you to feel sorry, Jack. Its all a very long time ago.”

“Still, I asked and made you tell it.” I kinda feel a bit guilty because of it.  
“I made you remember your past, so I figure we’re about even.” Hiccup suddenly gets up and proceeds to put on his coat.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to visit Astrid. Talking about her made me realize it’s been too long since I gave her some flowers.” The old man gives me a sad smile. “Not that she was the flower type. But I did it anyway, the ugliest things I could find, just to screw with her. Do you want to come along?” That goes without question, of course. I follow him with my hand on his, holding Toothless’ leash together — that seems like the stealthiest way to stay in contact. We take a bus, and then another, before we arrive at the cemetery. It’s a different one than the one Jamie is buried at.

Across the street, opposite to the entrance, is a stall with flowers. We go there first. Hiccup hesitates which flowers to buy - he can’t quite decide which are the worst. In the end, he goes for a bouquet that looks like weeds with some grass in between, smiling contently.

I float besides Hiccup when we cross the street again, now well equipped to pay our respects to Astrid. When we’re in the middle of the road, a van comes racing around the bend at an unholy speed. I startle but the van passes right through me.

Hiccup had no such luck. Nor did Toothless.

I stare at the old man, unable to say anything. He’s lying on the damp street, his body twisted in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

It feels like I’m being torn apart. It hurts. It burns. Something has been ripped away from me so violently it has left a gaping, soaring emptiness so painful I can’t describe it. Not that I’d want to put this feeling to words even if I could.

I whisper his name.

And again.

And again.

Over and over I say his name, hoping he’ll respond. Hoping this isn’t real. That this is some awful nightmare. But I never sleep anymore, I know that, and the way he looks… past memories of run-over pets and crying children flash by me and I feel nauseous. Never have I felt this sick.

I scream.

Louder and louder, I scream his name, and then I just scream. It’s not even words, just sounds of pain and anger.

Why? _Why him?! WHY NOW?!?!_

He was going to live. He was going to be fine. He was going visit all the places that made him happy on long walks with Toothless. He was going to make me lemonade even though I never drink, and tell me stories while sitting in his chair on the porch. He could show me pictures of his past, tell me about his childhood and the man he became. He was going to do all those things.

But now he lies there on the black tarmac. 

I stumble towards him and fall on my knees. I wonder why I can’t clearly before I realize I’m crying. I rub at the tears so I can see Hiccup, and at the same time I’m thankful they’re there because I don’t want to see this at all - his twisted and distorted frame, the blood pooling underneath him. 

I want to touch him. I want to hold him. But I don’t dare lay my hands on him, afraid of what I’ll feel.

I cry and scream, knowing no-one will hear me anyway. I’m all alone again.

“Please, Hiccup. Don’t leave me…”

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t,” a familiar voice says.

Instantly I’m on my feet. I spin around and right in front of me is a young man. His hair is brown and shaggy, with two little braids in his neck. He has freckles in his face, and his eyes are a vibrant green.

“Hiccup!”

“Sort of. Good thing I’m not stuck in that old body for the rest of eternity.” He smiles warmly at me, and I grab him into a hug. I hold him tight, burying my head against his chest. He still smells the same.

“And of course I’m not alone, right bud?” Toothless barks in agreement. I smile through my tears.

“I thought I’d lost you,” I whisper hoarsely against his chest.

“You haven’t, Jack,” he assures me with a smile. When I let go, he looks at me with an expression of compassion. “Come with me,” he asks gently, wiping away the last of my tears. “I’m sure your sister is waiting for you. Let’s find her and Jamie and all the others.”

Hiccup extends his hand, and I take it, smiling. 

“It’s time to move on, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I wasn't lying! It did turn out fine in the end! I hope this wasn't too sad or anything >.>
> 
> Kudos and/or feedback is very much appreciated <3


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